CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "NO MILK, BY ORDER OF THE NATIONAL GUARD" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 28, 2023

What a good day to be lactose-intolerant. CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep... ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

Oh, young, that I'm in three days. I'm a moose if I're on tomorrow on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off-moot. I'm all mooh as I'm not on think. Oh, this is I'm all moose if I're not on thinking. Have you it mollick, on top of gang to come? Give you yourself then a boost. With biocure, Maxhot Liquid.

Three up-puppant plants. Magnesium, Izer. An energy booster, to get in right again to come out. Bio-Cure, Max-Shot Liquid. Foodings Supplement, A few months ago, the civil township of Wainley, North Carolina, was officially revoked. The areas had a dwindling population for decades, and with less than a dozen people living there as of writing this,

the town has been absorbed into the neighboring area. For most people, this is a footnote. No one really knew about Wainley. Hell, even the post office got confused at times. But that town used to be something, and the people who came from there are as real as it gets. I was one of those people. And I want to tell the story of what happened.

In the 90s, Wainley was home to approximately 3,800 people. The main export was corrugated steel roofing sheds, produced by the Wainley metalworking roofing and tiles. There were two dairy farms, the Anson's and the Bowers. We also had a small barley and wheat refinery, a high school, two large off-site admin offices, and one of those small-scale business incubators. Apart from that, there wasn't much to see in Wainley. Just this flat chunk of land amid a big pile of nothing.

In those days, people were already leaving town. Businesses were split between Rayetteville and Roseborough. A lot of people figured that there was no point making big investment plans for a town that was bleeding out. Hell, even Wainly Metalworking considered relocating South to Wilmington, abandoning their namesake. But, despite all that sour gloom, it was an industry decision that caused. the downfall of Wainley. I was 13 years old in 1993. I grew up with my mom, Rennie L, Rennie for short, and my dad, Morgan.

My little brother, Amos, had the room right across the hall. He was just 10 years old at the time. It was the last month of middle school. The following autumn, I suppose the study at Wainley High. But for all of primary school You had to take the bus out of town Took us about 25 minutes one way Not too bad, but it singled us out

Us Wainly kids were a unit at that point Arriving and leaving in unison It was a Friday afternoon in late May I was on the school bus On my way back home There were these two kids in front of me Who couldn't stop talking about their latest Super Nintendo game, Star Fox I think.

I zoned out their entire conversation, instead opting to stare out the window. When we got to the Wainly Town sign, I noticed something strange. There was a man from the sheriff's office using a roller to add something to the sign. All I saw was the word, no. There were several police cars blocking the road into town. I recognised the faces of the officers, but I hadn't talked to them before. There weren't a lot of criminals in Wainley, and my family were all in the straight and narrow. Even my dad, who joked about being a bank robber.

He wasn't. He was a corporate lawyer. The bus stopped, and so did the conversation. No more Starvox. The double doors at the front of the bus swooshed open and an older policeman stepped on board

with his hands on his walkie-talkie. He looked at the driver and nodded. Then turned to us. Hey there, kids, he said. I'm Officer Gellon. We're not going to keep you here too long. We just need to have a little talk

if that's okay. Is that okay, kids? There was a muttering yes coming from the Wainley middle school children, myself included. Officer Gellon nodded, hiding a white smile under a wild mustache. All right, I'll be back. Sir, would you accompany me out for a sec? The driver stepped outside with Officer Gellon.

Meanwhile, the rest of us kept looking around, trying to see what was wrong. Maybe there's an accident, said one of the younger kids. Maybe someone got hurt. I think there's a fire, said another. Mom says you can't barbecue because of fire hazard. Maybe there's a murderer, said the Starfax kid, and they found like heads and stuff. Gross, I added, you're gross. I looked back outside as the other kids started to squabble.

It went from fire to accident to murderers to space aliens. Then right back to talking soon. Star Fox. Meanwhile, I stared off in the distance, and that, in turn, gave me an idea. I could see the back of the

town sign from the rearview window. I leaned back and looked out. The sign read, You're now leaving Wainley. But there was a large white text box added to it. Milk, before

I got the chance to tell the other kids, Officer Gellon came back on board. The driver got back in his seat. I had a very productive talk with Mr. Harley here, and he tells me that I've stumbled upon a particularly crafty and well-behaved group of students. Is he right about that? Is that what you are?

Of course we were. In unison, we agreed with Officer Gellon. Well, in that case, you might be able to help me out. See, we're looking for a special something that we can't bring into town, or people might get sick. And we wouldn't want anyone to get sick now, would we? Of course not. Then I hope you won't mind some of my officers checking your backpacks to make sure nothing bad snuck along, would you? Two officers stepped on board as Gellon hurried outside to halt an approaching sedan.

Someone was trying to get out of town. but was turned away. One by one, the officer had a short talk with us and went through our backpacks, our lunches specifically. When they got to the Star Fox kid just ahead of me, I heard them asking him a series of questions what he'd been eating how long ago

if he'd gone to the bathroom since. Strange questions. Turns out, he had chocolate. milk as part of his lunch. The officer who asked clicked his walkie-talkie twice. Some sort of discreet signal. When they got to me, I handed them my backpack. Have you had anything to drink today?

He asked. My mom made lemonade, I said. That sounds great. Wish my mom made me some. He smiled. Anything to eat? Any cheese? Any milk?

Just fish sticks and rice, I said, and ketchup. Doesn't sound too bad. He rummaged through the backpack and seemed relieved not to find what he was looking for. Right, looks like we're done. You have a good weekend now. You too. Once they'd gone through every backpack, they circled back to the Star Fox Kid. They asked him to come along and said they had to ask a couple more.

questions. It was scary. He started crying and they tried to encourage him every step of the way. They said they were going to call his parents and everything was going to be fine. I wasn't so sure. Once the boss started rolling, I looked back to see Officer Gellon in the rear window. He wasn't smiling anymore. He had this grim look on his face. staring straight into the asphalt, motionless. There was a long line of cars being turned away. Some cars I recognised. Friend and neighbours looking to make a quick exit.

The bus had to pull to the side at one point to let a fire truck pass. I got the impression that something big had happened, but no one was telling me what it was. The conversation had died down. and I had to fill the silence with my worries. There was no chatter to distract me. By the time we got to the bus stop, I saw all our parents lined up,

my mom and dad included. Amos was also there. He'd taken an earlier bus and had been home since lunch. As I stepped off, my dad swept me up in his arms. Mom was crying. What did they do? Dad asked, did they take anything?

What did they ask you? Mom took me from him. Give it a rest, Morgan, she spat. Let's go home. Amos seemed disinterested, instead clutching a teenage music Ninja Turtle's comic that they bribed him with. There was a man in camouflage

with an assault rifle walking up and down the street, asking people to disperse and return to their homes. Mom and Dad rode back to the car, sticking me and Amos in the back. He went straight to reading his comic, but I kept looking out the window. As we got back on the road heading home, I noticed several strange signs. The most prominent one was on the window of a corner shop.

No milk, by order of the National Guard. When we took the road by the Bows dairy farm, I heard popping noises. Before I got the chance to ask, my dad intervened. They're celebrating, he said, it's just fireworks. We lived at the end of a street next to a roundabout. We had three neighbouring houses. Two of them were elderly couples who rarely left their homes. And the last was another family with a teenage.

age boy. We'd hung out a bit before he started high school, but we'd fallen out of touch in the last year or so. Still, I had fun memories of watching movies on their big screen TV and playing video games. I bet they had the new Star Fox game. As we turned the corner, the street was in chaos. The masons were out on the lawn, arguing with two fire marshals, The other elderly couple, the Stevenson's, were dragging bags to their car. The other family were nowhere to be seen, and their SUV wasn't in the driveway. The front door was half open and the lock broken. There was a piece of white paper with red tech's nail to the side of the door.

Just go to your rooms, Dad said. We'll talk over dinner. But what's going on? I asked. We'll talk about it later, he insisted. For now, I need you to stay in your rooms. Amos looked up from his comic book. Can I play Nintendo? As long as you want, honey, mom smiled.

And tonight, there's no bedtime. Amos looked up at me like we were going to Disneyland. It took him a moment to realize that he was the only one smiling. and he didn't understand why. To be fair, neither did I. We hurried inside. Amos and I ran upstairs and got to our rooms. Amos had been allowed to keep the Super Nintendo in his room

while I had a VCR. It was fair enough. He could play games and I could watch movies. But I wasn't in a mood to watch anything. I had this sinking feeling. that something was terribly wrong, and I kept looking out the window, hoping to see something.

The Stevenson's were arguing next to the car, and the masons were being ushered back into their house. I could see smokestacks rising from the dairy farms, and flashing lights from fire trucks going back and forth down Main Street. Every now and then, if I listen closely, I could hear popping noises, It didn't sound like fireworks. It sounded like gunshots.

I'd only been in my room for a couple of minutes before I heard a careful tapping at the door. Amos stepped in with this haunted look on his face, his eyes wide and unblinking. Can you help me with my science project? he asked. It's acting funny. Amos had been working on a science. project for school. It wasn't a big deal. He'd taken different kinds of milk and placed them in cups to see which ones went bad first. He usually checked it before he went to bed, making notes about changes over time. Can you please look? he asked. It's really weird.

All right. For something to make Amos say please, it had to be something out of the ordinary. I walked across the hall to his room, catching a whiff of an argument downstairs. Mom had raised the voice. It was a certain pitch to it when she was worried about something, and she wasn't holding back this time. Made me feel sorry for Dad. Half the time it wasn't even him she was angry at.

I followed Amos past the poor screen for Contra 3 and up to the window. He had the cups resting on a small metal tray with plastic wrapping. He stopped just ahead of it. I heard this noise and... He pointed at the cups, clutching his notebook. I haven't opened it. Mom says it smells too much. As I approached, I saw the cups rattle.

Not much, but enough to make a noise. I could see the plastic wrap shaking. Looking into the cups, it took me a while to understand what I was looking at. At first, I thought it was maggots, but it wasn't. It looked like something had coalesced at the bottom of each cup, and there were these tiny white strands shooting out of it, prodding the plastic for weaknesses. It sort of looked like an egg in a way, with these inches-long strands that moved independently of one another.

All of it milky white. It keeps moving, he said. Look, he stepped up to it and put his finger on top of the plastic. The strands in the cup immediately reacted, shooting straight up. It looked almost electric in a way. Why does it do that? he asked. Don't touch it, I said.

We gotta put it away. Should we tell Mom? I could hear them arguing downstairs and shook my head. We should throw it away, I said, let's flush it. Amos protested all the way to the bathroom, but didn't want to make a fuss. I told him I'd take the blame, and he could go back to plain contra. That seemed to do the trick. I placed the tray on the floor next to the toilet.

I put on mom's plastic cleaning gloves just in case. As I took off the plastic wrap, those little white strands shot out of the cup, aiming straight at my face. They were a lot longer than I'd suspected, just inches away from my face. I panicked and dropped the entire cups down the toilet, with a squeal. Looking down, they squirmed and twisted back and forth, these white strands whipping around like worms in agony.

It was so much longer than I'd anticipated, and I could feel them prodding against the plastic gloves. They were looking for the warmth of my skin. The tips were much sharper than anticipated, and almost poked a hole in my gloves. I flushed. After waiting a few seconds, I could see some strands moving at the bottom of the bowl. I flushed again and again and again.

Finally, there was nothing left. I dumped half a bottle of toilet cleaner in, flushed again and waited. I must have sat there for ten minutes, just watching the water. There was this tingle in my spruce. spine, like I'd escaped some great danger. The same kind of rush you'd get if you'd nearly stepped on a snake or seen a bear.

I went back to my room and brought out a notebook. No milk, I wrote at the top. I tried to name all the places in town where there might be a lot of milk or milk-based products. The dairy farms were obvious, but there were also the high school cafeteria, the corner shop with a soft-serve ice cream and the convenience store. Since this was a town with several dairy farms, milk and cheese was sort of everywhere. I listed at least two dozen locations where there might be a lot of dairy products. There was a loud banging on the front door downstairs.

Amos and I rushed out of our rooms to see what was going on. From upstairs, I saw Dad open the door. the door to a man in military uniform. Mom looked up the stairs. Get back in your rooms, she said. We'll tell you when you can come out, right? Mom, what's going on? Just play your games, she said.

Wait there. But mom, I... Rooms, she yelled. Now! She wasn't messing around. Amos and I looked at one another and silently decided to stick together on this one.

There was a discussion between my parents and the man at the door. Amos and I retreated back to my room. He kept reading, but he kept getting distracted. You think it's bad? he asked, putting down his comic book. Amos had always been a bit of a pain, lots of pranks and scares.

But this time was different. We weren't playing around. It was like a silent agreement. Yeah, I said. I think so. Why? What's so bad? I think there's something wrong with the milk. But you flushed it, right? Not just that milk, I said.

All of it. All milk in town. It's... It's all gone bad? Worse, I said. Like, really? Like, real bad. What happened next was quick.

I heard someone coming up the stairs, and in the next moment, my parents opened the door to my room. They asked us to remain calm. They asked us to be quiet. They asked us to come along, stay close, and don't ask any questions. On our way out, I saw the man in uniform stepping into our upstairs bathroom. seconds later he sprinted back out yelling into his walkie-talkie. Mom and Dad hurried us downstairs.

Three other men rushed past us, up the stairs, dragging dirt and mud through the living room carpet on the way up. All in uniform, all armed with assault rifles. They left the front door open, and I could see at least six more people waiting outside. We got in our car, taking nothing with us except Amos' comic book. A man tapped the driver's seat window with his rifle, and my dad took off down the road. We can't get out of town, Mom said, keeping a voice low. Morgan, they're testing women at the checkpoints. Maybe it's for the better, Dad said.

Who knows how this can affect you? You might need a... A vaccine. You've seen what they did with the dairy cows. They take them out back and then... We're not cattle, Raniel. They're not putting people down. They're not putting people, Rani, out to pasture.

Then where the hell are the goddamn Abernathies? Mom roared back. Them being dragged off was just for fun, for show. We're not having this discussion, Dad said. Not in front of the kids. I'm almost in the second trimester. She whispered, and God knows what they'll do if. Mom quieted down, holding her hand to her mouth.

Dad looked at her with a mix of pity and frustration. I feel strange, Morgan, she continued, and it's not like last time. There's this big four-way intersection in the middle of the downtown area. When we got to that point, the lights had turned red. There were these military trucks going by one by one, at least a dozen, covered in blue plastic tarps. Long after the lights turned green, the trucks were still going by. As the second to last truck was going by, there was this loud, middle bang, and the entire truck started leaning. For a moment, we all thought he was going to tip over.

Two of the wheels were off the ground. It tipped back down and the driver leaned on the horn. From seemingly every corner of the street, armed men started shouting at us to move. I could see something moving under the top. Something sharp, poking and prodding against the plastic. I'd seen it before. Dad stepped on the gas, going the other way.

I saw the high school gymnasium in the distance lined with vehicles all along the street They told us to stay here Dad said Let's just hunger down and wait We'll be trapped We can leave at any time We can't go by foot

I don't like the look of those rifles You know they wouldn't They exchanged the glance And the conversation stopped Amos and I just kept our heads down there were still popping sounds outside they were closer now Dad found a spot further down the street

and we made our way to the gymnasium there were at least a hundred people gathered outside I picked up a few things from various discussions going around for example the armed men were from the National Guard most of them had showed up early that morning probably minutes after I'd left for school. There was a lot of talk from a lot of people.

A soldier explaining something about lactic acid bacteria to one of our science teachers. An old man complaining about how they took his freezer. A kid being scolded for not telling his mom he had a milkshake with his lunch. A farmhand looking distraught saying something about the new cow feed used by Anson Farm

and how it was underwent. fair for the boughs to get shut down. Bits and pieces of a hundred different stories. But what struck me the most was a group of young women looking distraught. One of them kept repeating the same thing over and over to a soldier. I'll get rid of it, she said. It's just it's in there for good. We had to sign our names on the way in. Dad signed for the four of us.

I barely recognized anyone. They'd set up green military carts two by two with a basic foot locker for valuables and personal belongings. Dad weaved between aisles of cots, keeping me and Amos close. Mom was looking for the restroom. When can we go back to the house? Amos asked. They're checking the pipes, Dad said. That can take a while. checking the pipes for what?

I don't know, but whatever it is, they're making sure we're okay. A stone sunk into my stomach. Maybe what I'd flushed down the toilet had gotten stuck in the pipe somehow? Maybe that's what they saw. For the next few hours, we stayed putt. They handed out a couple of basic dairy-free meals.

Once every two hours, there were a couple of soldiers walking down the aisles. making sure everyone looked okay. But people were far from okay. I saw this one athletic guy shaking like a leaf, coughing into his hand over and over. It sounded awful, like his body was trying to push something out.

When the patrol made their rounds, they took him outside. I didn't see him again. Mom was in the bathroom for a long time, at least an hour. When she got back, she had this slightly ashen complexion, like she hadn't slept for days. Dad was worried, but she kept telling him she was okay. Once it started to get dark, the patrol said they were closing down for the night.

A curfew was in effect. Dad had all kinds of questions, but didn't want to start arguing with armed soldiers. I could tell he was holding back. corporate lawyer or no personal freedoms are a big sticking point to him I remember this big clock over the scoreboard if you manage to filter out the cries

and the occasional scream that clock was the only thing you could hear and I could swear that the seconds were getting longer the more you listened to it mom and dad shared a cot while Amos and I got one each Amos went out like a light

but I stayed up long after midnight I couldn't help it that damn clock kept me up with the lights off all I saw was the sharp shadows cast by the crescent moon creeping in through the cloud cover as the screams and cries

turned to snivals and snores I was left awake staring into the ceiling I heard someone whispered about megabacteria, something in the methane, the lactic acid, the gas lines. Nobody knew for sure. There was one guy who kept muttering about birds being the source, claiming it had rained feathers moments before things hit the fan.

There was this one drunk man by the exit who kept talking out loud to himself. They dance like skinny little worms, reaching for the stars. skinny little worms. Just like I'd seen in my brother's science project, I'd been drifting in and out of sleep for one or two hours when I snapped to attention. I heard someone running past me and looked up to see Mom's side of the cart empty.

Dad sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Rainy? he whispered. He noticed me looking his way. you see where mom went I shook my head he got up and took me by the hand let's go look we went down the aisles

hand in hand it was eerie watching all these strangers sleeping around us like nothing was going on even the drunk guy by the exit was out cold by now I don't know if I was imagining things but I had the mental image of those skinny little

little worms appearing. Sometimes when I looked at the sleeping people, I imagine little shadows scurrying to hide. Something crawling out of a nose, an ear, a mouth. We walked past this one man who looked sick, who had a metal bucket next to his cot. I could hear little tapping movements from the bottom of it, as if something was struggling to reach out. She might be in the bathroom, Dad said. Let's go look.

There were two patrolmen by the bleachers, smoking and telling stories. They kept passing a bottle back and forth. Dad kept his head down, making sure not to look them in the eye. He went through a short hallway and made it to the bathrooms. The power was still on, but all the lights were off, making the emergency exit sign the only thing to guide us. Dad was about to step in. inside the bathroom when I tugged on his sleeve.

That's for the ladies, Dad, I said. I'm sure they won't mind. We stepped through the door. Moonlight was coming in from a frosted glass window, casting an eerie shadow across the floor. We split up and started knocking on the stalls. It was quiet. Dad had this worried look on his face.

Maybe you should stay. step outside for this, he said, just for a while. Let's check, I said. It'll be quick. Wait, let's... I opened one of the stalls. I barely saw anything. In the moonlight, I couldn't see much more than outlines. I saw a pair of still hands holding up a bloated belly,

with these little dancing worms pushing their way out of the skin. like a goddamn human garlic press. The tapping sound of a hundred thin parasites looking for a new host. Some were just an inch long, others were as tall as an arm. One of them poked the nail on my thumb, but it couldn't latch on. I saw chunks of hair strewn across the floor, a side effect of late stage infection. A hand fell over my eyes and I was dragged outside.

When I looked up, I saw Dad. His entire body language had changed, like he was in pain. For a few seconds, all he did was stare at me. Then there was a bang on the door, coming from the inside. I need to get your brother, he said. I need to get to your brother, and I need you to get to the car. But Dad, what? Here, he handed me the car.

I'm trusting you and I need you to hurry. But what about? Another bang on the door. Dad straightened his back and pushed it shut. I stepped back, feeling my pulse rise through my chest. Go, he yelled. I'll meet you outside. Running back out, some of the cloud cover had cleared outside.

I started running down the aisles, trying to find my way back to Amos. It was difficult Everything looked different in the dark There was this woman who got out of a cot Just a few feet ahead of me She coughed and this avalanche of worms trickled out of her mouth They spilled onto a chest and scattered across the floor

She turned to me Chunks of hair coming off her scalp She weased at me Her brown eyes tired from crying She tried to say something to call for help But all I heard was that inhuman wheezing As little white worms made their way across a chest I don't know if I was the one who started it

But someone did That first scream That choir of screams as lives came crashing down There were so many parasites, so many victims some who just felt funny and tried to sleep it off, waking to a nightmare. Others had tried keeping their sickness a secret. There were no patterns, no limits. Everyone was susceptible, young, old, strong, frail.

There were some with parasites coming out of their stomachs, others through the ears, mouth and nose. There was this one man who had them in his left eye, as they reached out to others for help the parasite spilled from one person to the next boring into their skin I didn't find Amos he found me he kept telling me that a bad man had taken his comic book

and that he ran away looking for dad and help he asked a hundred questions at once but I just grabbed him and ran clutching the car keys so hard that my hand cramped we made our way to the exit but there was a rush of people going in and out like a waterfall. Someone yelled, telling people to drop to the floor. Ten others screamed back, begging for help.

Others just screeched like wounded animals trying to alert the flock of incoming danger. Amos took to the floor and I followed him. Then, the gunshot started. We got out by crawling on all fours. One of the soldiers tripped over me, accidentally kicking me across the ribs. When we got outside, we stuck to the wall and kept a low profile. Amos couldn't stop crying, but I just pulled him along.

I could barely hear anything over my ringing ears and pounding pulse, as gunshot after gunshot rang out behind us. We crawled our way through the flower beds, using the high school's blue sunflowers' cover. Most people was stuck inside. Some made their way out, building back into the military tents outside. Amos and I made our way back to the car. My fingers barely worked as I fumbled to open the door. When I finally did, I could see more people heading our way from down the road.

I got out the car and pushed Amos into the back seat. I followed him, locking the doors from the inside. We curled into the leg space between the back seat and front, hugging each other tight as I hushed him. He couldn't stop crying. He had so many questions piling up that they were overflowing into a jumbled mess. Questions about mom, about dad, about the people outside, about the bad man who took his comic book. As the gunfire died down, people started pouring out. but they weren't just people anymore

one of them noticed our car one of them spotted us inside and after that first one came another and then another in less than half an hour there were so many of them they were blocking all the windows all I saw were silhouettes

and all I heard were wheezing noises bodies calling for help begging pressing themselves against the windows to get at us, rattling coughs over and over, as something inhuman settled in their throats. I could only see part of them as they banged on our windows. There was this one man smiling at me, with little worms dancing between the gaps in his yellow teeth. He pressed himself against the passenger window, meeting my gaze. Bad man, he groaned.

Bad man, help. An eternity passed in the back of that car, and some time during that eternity, the noises stopped. Maybe they moved on, maybe they got shot, I don't know, but at some point the sun broke through, and we were both okay. Panicked, but okay. There were soldiers outside, rounding up people from the gymnasium and people from the tents. Some were sent back home after signing some documents. Others were asked to stay near their vehicles until further notice. And me?

Well, I refused to open the door for anyone. Amos and I stayed in there for hours, until we could feel the heat baking us. Then, the door opened. My dad had a spare set of keys, Seeing his familiar face outside the passenger side window was everything I needed to know that in some way we'd be okay

He'd locked himself in one of the stalls and kept quiet all night Looking back at it He and everyone else were forced to sign some kind of agreement We were given a hefty compensation And all we could say was that it was killer bacteria coming from one of the dairy farms, which in a sense was true. But it didn't tell the whole truth.

It took Dad years to build up the courage to tell me what really happened to Mom. Six years, I think. Apparently she was pregnant, but the whole thing had been a bit touch and go. They didn't want to tell us until they were sure. She was just at the point where her body had started lactating, and milk protein just, I don't know.

I can't shake the feeling that maybe it was her that I saw in that stall. Dad took the money and left town. He and so many others. Some moved in, encouraged by the sudden price drop. I guess that's how the town made it all the way to 2023. 176 people died in total, directly or indirectly. But what they don't tell you is that thousands were permanently scarred. Some of the girls who just entered puberty had to get sterilized,

but they might risk another outbreak years down the line. They did some tests on me as well, but determined I was fine. Amos too. Guys are affected different. I still have that bacteria in me in some capacity. While I can eat and drink dairy nowadays, there is that part of me that just can't bring myself to try. The thought of reliving any part of that day

gives me this sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel my pulse rising just thinking about it, seeing that white liquid fills me with the sense that there is so much moving around in it that I just can't see. If it hadn't been for what happened that day in 1993, I think Wainley would have been fine. But as it stands, I'm glad. It's finally gone.